More on Popeye

I got so homesick in college,I spent most of my first year hiding out in the library basement, eating bread, honey, and candy bars. By the end of Sophomore Year, I’d gained twenty pounds.

Thus I made the biggest mistake of my life—dieting. It made me utterly nuts. Every day I walked down the supermarket aisles, thinking, “When this diet is over I’m eating Duncan Hines and Sara Lee and Little Debbie and...” Sure enough, once I got down to my goal weight, I ate everything in sight, including foods I’d never even liked before.

Through long, miserable years I’ve learned that going on diets is like going to war—each one only brings about the next.

Here is Poe’s Famous Non-Diet
I have to treat food like it’s something holy. Sitting down in front of the TV and scarfing down a gallon of ice cream only prostitutes that which is meant to nourish.

So

Before eating, I clear the table--off comes the mail, the half-finished art projects, dirty dishes, crumbs. No more standing up, eating out of the pot I cooked the food in. I only eat sitting down and make heavy use of pretty centerpieces and candles. Placemats are a necessity, as well as napkins and good china--even for a snack.

I imagine the food is communion, the Catholic kind where every bite is literally the body of the Christ. Chewing slowly, I imagine love radiating into me. I focus on the tastes and textures. No books, no newspaper, TV is off, the radio is off, computer is off.

Doing this, I’ve lost 11 pounds in as many weeks.*

But do you realize what a royal pain this is? I’ve spent my life opening the frig and gobbling whatever I see. Munching on dinner while I fix dinner. Leaving the table while still chewing the last mouthful. Eating before work, to calm me down (also during work and after, ditto.)

Chew slowly? Sit down at a pretty table? Good God! I want food to be fun. I want my freedom! Forget all this spiritual garbage.

Only Popeye saves me from myself.

Consider: How do you think he feels about carrying that damned spinach around all day? Try it some time. A can of spinach bangs into your chest, falls out at inappropriate times. Not to mention looking really silly.

But you don’t see Popeye dissolving into self-pity: “Why me? Normal people don’t have to keep a can of spinach in their shirt all the time.” **

Just like my hero, I must do my duty, because without it I am at the mercy of every bully I meet.
But with it, I too am strong to the finich.

* P.S. I also do the Weight Watchers thing and have three "body buddies" I report to every day via email.

**Equal time—My daughter reminds us all, “Cartoons are not real.”